Metallic
by Kissel
Summary: Mail Jeevas was a docile computer technician that wore orange glasses and innocently dreamed of adventure. Mihael Keehl was a black market drug dealer that shot trouble up his cocaine veins. In a drastic shift of events, their worlds ended up colliding in a whirlwind of hollow lust and helpless attraction. Is love truly elusive like a pearl dove or solid like a metallic gun?
1. Ashes Rising (Prologue)

The stars kissed the sky and the metropolitan air was ashen with pollution. Behind the textured brick wall of an isolated alley, muffled objections and a viscous muttering blended together in a discordant harmony. The voice of the protester was so frantic that it was impossible to tell if it spoke of pleasure or pain. Heavy body contact sounds contrasted with the soft slips of clothing being shifted.

A young man with fiery crimson hair was shoved aggressively against a dumpster. His dark denim jeans were crudely unzipped to reveal a shameful lump of desire under his crisp white briefs. A golden haired male held him captive with his lithe weight, effectively pinning the other. Slim, almost effeminate fingers slid rhythmically in and out of the redhead's mouth while another set fondled the bulging package below.

* * *

Sweat trickled in slick rivulets down the side of Mail's face as he struggled in a losing battle for control. Heat fogged and spread behind his orange rimmed glasses, which were hanging slightly astray. A desperate passion was steadily building within his body, and as the intimate touches continued it became harder to ignore. He fidgeted nervously, earning a low growl from his captor. Mihael aggressively yanked the glasses from Mail's face to reveal a heated blush and tender jade eyes framed by thick lashes. His hands left the confines of Mail's undergarments to settle for a possessive grip on his exposed hips. Mihael brought his full lips to Mail's flushed ears.

"Tell me you want this." Mihael's voice was husky and laced with unmasked desire. His skilled hands threatened the back of Mail's throat, and then he slid them out with a sensual pop. Mail gasped for air as an embarrassing trail of saliva dripped erotically down his jaw. Mihael lapped it up with his tongue and ground insistently against Mail's crotch. Mail tried to focus his thoughts, which seem to swirl around his mind like glitter in a snow globe. As his hesitant forest eyes met Mihael's burning cobalt flames, he wondered how he had gotten himself into such a predicament in the first place. He opened his mouth to respond, but found himself biting his lip hesitantly. A pregnant silence penetrated the cool night air as the two men shared a tense exchange of eye contact.

Mihael glowered at him and slipped his hands in the back pockets of Mail's jeans. With measured strength, he hoisted Mail's thighs around his waist. "You're trying my patience." Mihael's tone was low and sharp. "I know you want me to take care of you, so just tell me so." Mail swallowed deeply as Mello reached down between his legs. He roughly clutched Mail's throbbing erection through his undergarments and rubbed the tip in erogenous little circles. Admitting defeat, Mail closed his eyes in shy ecstasy and allowed himself to be swept away by Mihael's heated caresses and the starry night. Love morphed like an emerging moth, only to be engulfed by a candle flame of lust.


	2. Sleeping Beauty

The insistent electronic beeping of his alarm startled Mail Jeevas from his previously deep slumber. He slowly ran freckled fingers over his face as he tried to adjust to the blinding rays of sunshine invading his townhouse window. Sitting up and glancing out at the hectic city through his curtains he felt very small and insignificant. His apartment was modestly furnished but very cozy, and the dark covers were beckoning for him to ignore responsibility in exchange for a day of video games. However, logic told him that he needed to get to work so he reluctantly headed to the bathroom.

As he glanced at himself in the mirror he couldn't help noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the stark protrusion of his rib bones. He felt a slight pang of loneliness and tried to swallow it. Since he lived alone he typically purchased takeout or skipped meals altogether, and his overly introverted personality made him more trusting of electronics than people. Sometimes he felt like he was missing something, like a person who couldn't see color or a puzzle without several critical pieces. He secretly fantasized about someone or something blowing his mind into millions of pieces and putting it right back together again. But his real life was plain, he was alone, and he was late for work again.

Several hours later, Mail peered out from his gray cubicle. The previously sunny sky had turned ominously cloudy and the office seemed to be overcast. Boring chatter drifted through the air and he found himself anxious to leave early. He could hear the rhythmic clicking of fingers hitting keyboards, the churning of bubbles in the water cooler, and the depressed sighs of other computer scientists. Mail stretched, unbuttoned the top button of his white collared shirt, and propped his feet up on his desk. Again, he gave into his daydreams and began to imagine intriguing adventures. The drab office melted away to vivid fictional scenes. He saw himself dressed in camouflage, traveling through a lush jungle with only a silver machete in hand. He envisioned himself flying a militia helicopter over a battlefield to rescue gorily injured troops. He felt himself plunging to the depths of the Pacific Ocean in a compact glass submarine to scavenge for lost treasures.

"Ma…il…Mail…Mail!"

Mail jumped at the pitchy female voice that he was all too familiar with. It was his boss, Halle. As he quickly slipped his loafers off of his desk he found himself face to face with slick blonde hair, ample cleavage, and sharp stilettos. Halle was eye-catching, but he wasn't attracted to her. She'd made her interest quite evident several times after a few drinks and he had always responded awkwardly. He remembered the red lipstick heat of a kiss she'd given him at an office party and tried to settle the flush on his face as he made eye contact with her. "Yes Halle?" Mail hated his voice; it always cracked and shuddered like raw glass when he was nervous. She gave his unbuttoned shirt a suppressed look of hunger then brought her sharp gave back to his eyes. "I need you to take another project. The one located within the inner city?" Halle's golden eyebrows arched in a very unpleasant manner. Mail felt his stomach drop more than a few stories to the bottom of the building. He would never dream of setting foot in such a tedious, crime ridden location.

"M-me?"

"Yes, you."

"But…I…I'm…"

"You're the most technically competent programmer we have and this is a vital assignment. I know the location isn't ideal, but I need you to do this for the company…unless you don't value your job?"

"No, I mean yes, I do value my…"

"Excellent. I'm glad that's settled. You can relocate your belongings to the apartment that the company has purchased for you tonight. Let me know if you need any assistance. Your temporary supervisor is named Nate Rivers."

She assertively stood over Mail, being sure to expose her supple curves and allow her heady perfume to settle on his clothes. She stroked his tomato hued cheeks with a manicured fingernail and handed him a thick Manila envelope.

"Here is all of the information you'll need. Do not disappoint me."

She winked at him, the soft corners of her eyes softening for a bit, and then she walked briskly away.

Once she was far enough away, Mail reached into his pocket and clasped his metal lighter with white knuckles. He shuffled to the exit door, averting the smug glances of his coworkers and trying his best to quash humiliating tears of frustration. He desperately needed a smoke.

* * *

Moist, twinkling snow flurries drowned the city in white sparkles. Mail struggled to make his way up a very steep flight of metal stairs to his temporary home at an extended stay motel. His duffel bag smacked him repeatedly in the hip and his glasses were clouded with ice. He honestly couldn't believe this was happening to him. His parched throat was aching and his limbs were cramped from driving his beat up van hours in the snow. Mail knew that Halle resented him for rejecting her advances, but this was too far. Everyone was aware of what a pushover he was and his docile demeanor was the only reason he'd gotten this assignment. Mail wondered how exactly being a kind person had caused him so much misfortune.

He opened the upstairs door that led into the hallway and surveyed the top of the staircase with dismay. Trash, used condoms, and dirty clothing littered nearly every step of the walkway. As he searched for his room (254) he could hear a tormented infants crying, broken radiators growling, and piercing gun shots in the distance. Moving down the hallway he could see that carpet was a shabby oriental pattern and the cream plaster walls were coated in explicit graffiti. There were only two small, dusty windows to let in the melancholy twilight.

As he averted the eyes of two very large quarreling men, Mail realized that being unnoticed and passive wasn't such a bad thing. When he reached the end of the hallway, his eyes finally locked onto his soon to be home. Room 254 was tucked into the corner with faded gold lettering and a small brown welcome mat. Mail jammed the creaky key into the keyhole and propelled himself into the small studio; locking the door behind him. He put down his duffel bag with a pathetic thump and slumped to his knees by the door. Fishing out a bottle of whisky; let the acrid fluid slip down his throat. He tried very hard to stop shaking. As he listened to the sound of the heavy snow outside intermingling with the agitated echoes of his neighbors, he finally gave himself permission to cry.

* * *

A faint knocking caused Mail to nearly slip off the tattered couch that he'd drunkenly fallen asleep on. His heart raced so loudly that he could barely hear himself breathe. Who could be at the door at such an hour? Was this some sort of a mugging? There was no way he could answer it…it wasn't like he could defend himself. With his thin arms, nimble fingers and gangly frame he was no match for some burly mobster or shady criminal. Besides, he wasn't emotionally capable of hurting anyone or anything. The faint, insistent knocks continued. Mail took the last swig of his whiskey and peered through his peephole. A shriveled elderly woman was anxiously hunched outside of his door. Matt's moral heart kicked into overdrive, and he could not refuse. He unlocked the door, letting in the blue twilight and the stranger.

"Ah, thank goodness." The woman's voice croaked; she sounded relieved and apprehensive. Matt gently grasped her arm and brought her into the small entrance way of the apartment. Her eyes were pools of silver and the dimples in her wrinkled face were kind. Matt figured she was a resident in the apartment; besides, she didn't look very much like a gangster. He exhaled a bit and waited for her to speak. Her skin flushed from white to red as she calmed down, but she remained silent with shock. About a minute passed, then he attempted conversation.

"Um hello…how can I help you? I-I mean is everything alright?"

The lady's eyes nervously shifted to the side. "Well you see, I've been knocking on everyone's door but no one has answered…" She paused to take a breath.

"There is a young person out there…in the cold I mean…they're outside my window. I heard a struggle and some gunshots…the snow turned red. Please…if you could…"

Mail could feel his legs going wobbly. He was so not the individual for this task. He was terrified of guns, terrified of people, terrified of life. But something in the old lady's eyes was a plea to the core of his moral conscious and he instinctively knew that he was needed. All his life he'd craved adventure and he supposed that now was possibly his chance to experience it. He had nothing to lose.

"Okay, show me."

The woman slid her gnarly hand into his and they swiftly moved down the flights of stairs to the bottom of the complex. Mail could hear the wind howling before they reached the outdoors, and he was greeted with an onslaught of crystal snowflakes upon exiting the building. He was grateful that he hadn't changed out of his simple tweed coat and khaki pants. The woman's red scarf blew frantically in the wind as she moved to a shaded corner underneath a window.

Mail saw the figure almost immediately. A lean body was slumped painfully against the wall. Lengthy trails of streaked crimson crudely tainted the silvery snow and Mail heard the old woman's soft gasp. Mail squeezed her shoulder to halt her in her tracks and he timidly moved forward. The whole situation felt surreal, like a scenario from one of his novels or video games. Crouching down, he carefully tilted the bloodied chin up so he could see the battered stranger's face. Mail held back an astonished gasp of his own.

Despite their gory condition, it was evident that the victim was beautiful. Soft corn silk locks framed an angelically angled face. Frantic, shallow breaths feathered in and out of full lips. Deep black bruises soiled large eyelids and a flawless jaw sat at an angle that indicated a brutal break. He wondered what their voice sounded like, what their favorite food was, the color of their eyes…were they as piercing a blue as he imagined?

But…this was certainly not the time or place. Mail reached out hesitantly to examine the stranger's body, which he felt was a bit too muscular to belong to a female. There seemed to be countless fractures, tears, and contusions. The stranger was dressed all in black, with a heavy fur jacket and combat boots. His elegant hands were coated in leather gloves. An embellished silver gun lay next to him but it was visibly unloaded. Copper bullets were eerily nestled in the icy ground. Mail was certain that something illegal had taken place and that a hospital was not necessarily the best option.

In this part of town, patients could wait hours for assistance and end up bleeding to death in the waiting room. He wasn't going to let that happen to this man. For some reason, he felt fiercely protective of this stranger and his previous anxiety evaporated like hot steam. He steadily met the worried eyes of the elderly woman. She clutched her rosy scarf apprehensively.

"Please get some blankets, alcohol, and hot water. We have to get him out of the snow."

* * *

Sometime later, Mail sat in disbelief on his ragged futon with a golden head cradled in his lap. With the careful hands of his neighbor and lots of rubbing alcohol, the worst of the stranger's ailments had been stabilized. Now he was swaddled like an infant in blankets and gauze. His inhalation pattern was a bit more even, but his red wounds stood out angrily against his pallid skin. Mail had carefully folded his clothes and placed his unloaded gun on the counter. The man's body bulged with lean, tanned muscle and he had a large inverted cross tattooed under his ribcage. Something told Mail that the stranger wasn't used to being vulnerable.

Despite the muscle mass, the man looked fragile, like a lion trapped in an iron cage. Even unconscious, the raw energy that pulsed from his body captivated Mail. Everyone in his life seemed dull, but this person appeared in living color. Mail had never been around anyone so beautiful, male or female. He was positively spellbound.

Barely aware of his actions, he brought his face intimately closer to the man's. The blond let out a soft, wistful sigh. His eyelids fluttered, but didn't open. Mail softly traced the line of the stranger's broken jaw with his finger. He slid his pampered, soft hand into the stranger's roughly calloused one. The fingers unconsciously twitched and clasped towards the heat of his touch. Mail experienced an inexplicable thrumming deep within his chest. What was this feeling? His ears buzzed and his mouth was dry. He felt like a pink cloud of passion was muddling his senses, his emotions, his brain…

As if in a trance Mail leaned down and pressed his lips to the stranger's in a momentary, virginal peck. The irrepressible heat from his kiss seemed to melt the blond's frigid mouth and it softened instantly. Warmth spread through Mail's veins and softened his heart; he'd never felt such intimacy in his life. Holding someone else, caring for another, exchanging body heat; these things had always seemed so unobtainable to him. His life was destined to be boring, or so he thought. Mail was positive that he would always be alone, but perhaps this was not the case. This enigmatic man had somehow managed to light his small ember of existence into a sparkling, multihued firecracker.

A characteristic blush instantly fueled the veins in Mail's face. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened. In fact, he wasn't sure he was ready to acknowledge the overwhelming sensual overload he was feeling or the questionable act he'd just committed…with a complete stranger no less. For the first time, he was relieved that the man was unconscious. He took a deep breath and kept his eyes closed as he tried to calm the tornado of warmth that threatened to overwhelm his body and heart. Gradually recovering, Mail sluggishly opened his eyes after a moment.

He froze with a harsh inhale, and felt his blood instantly run cold. Icy shards of blue glimmered up at him. The lips he'd just touched with his own were pursed in an unreadable smirk. The body below his thrummed with rage and tension. The man had awakened.


	3. Timid Shadow

A transparent, vibrating curtain of milky yellow, white hot blue, streaking crimson…all shrouded in pulsing pink. The sense burned his lungs, squeezed his heart, and tickled his veins in an intimately uncomfortable manner. Mail could still sensitively and physically feel the remnants of the dreamy haze he'd entered. But it was over now; the sapphire sky had parted to onyx storm clouds.

The blond's eyes were purely enthralling. Mail had never seen such a shade of unblemished, untainted cerulean bleached ice in his life. His emerald lined pupils expanded and shrunk as he treaded water in the stranger's churning wake. Taking advantage of Mail's lack of clarity, the blond aggressively drove forward in a surge of muscle. He slid his etched hands around the redhead's shoulders and jaggedly flipped him onto his back. A soft squeak left Mail's chapped lips as his delicate spine made fast friends with rigid metal springs. The blond was significantly stronger than he initially appeared.

Mail opened his mouth in an attempt at conversation but found his throat compressed by the other man's firm, unyielding grip. Naked bronzed muscles molded themselves to a vulnerable pastel stomach. The stranger seemed to be making himself quite comfortable. Mail's throat felt stuffed with scratchy cotton and he wheezed quietly. He was very aware of the possibility that he could be seriously injured. Or worse, he could end up another nameless body in a black plastic bag. But logic could not reach him any longer. He wanted to hear the stranger's voice.

The blond pinned Mail the way a predator crushes prey. His pants for air were steady but heavy and labored with injury. Splayed, gold tinted locks made him look like a feral animal. Icy eyes violated Mail's form enough to cause the redhead's high cheekbones to blossom red. The fingers of the stranger's other hand played with the rims of Mail's carroty eyeglasses until he slid them off completely. As Mail's visionary world turned into a blur, he heard a muted sound of amusement from his captor.

"You're prettier than I thought."

His voice was low pitched, viscous; melodic. It dripped with sarcasm like nectar dripping from a swarming hive. Mail felt a pleasantly pathetic shudder move through him. He was a fidgeting fly snagged in the sticky lace of a black widow's web.

"But you have to be the worst hitman I've ever seen in my life."

Hitman? Under the blond's grasp, Mail made a murmured sound of protest and indignation. The blond blew hot air next to his ear and cradled his throbbing throat. Mail felt his heart stuttering in short, electric pulses. He wished the pressure on his neck and collarbone would subside just a bit so he could say something. He hoped that his voice wouldn't crack horribly if and when he did get a chance to speak. Mail pitifully shut his eyes in subjugation and let long cherry lashes tickle his checks. He tried not to feel helpless. Or rather, he tried not to like the feeling as much as he did. A velvet voice teased his eardrums.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you have something to say?"

The weight from his larynx was lifted and Mail's head buzzed from oxygen loss. He took a hoarse breath and willed his swimming vision to settle. Still holding him bodily captive, the stranger set his glasses back on his freckled nose. Mail blinked his dry eyes and met those wholly animated blues for the first time.

Christ, the stranger was gorgeous.

"Well don't just fucking stare at me. Surely you have something to say after dragging me to this filthy place and putting your hands all over me?"

Apparently, he was quite agitated as well.

Insensitive hands pulled Mail's face far too close for comfort. Warm breaths mingled and Mail was positive his heart was beating loud enough for the both of them. He'd never been so physically near another human being before. He'd also never felt so terrified in his life.

"Listen _Ginger_, I don't have time for this shit. Your silence is fucking irritating. Just tell me who hired you and why exactly you couldn't finish the job."

Somehow through the suffocating heat of blushing pink, the logical intellect pockets of reason, and the blossoming meadow of warped courage, Mail found his stammering voice.

"No, you've got it all w-wrong. I-I'm not a hitman. I'm a computer programmer! I honestly could never be capable of hurting anyone."

"Then what the hell am I doing here?"

"That's-I mean, I found you in the snow. You were bleeding really badly and I know the hospital takes awhile p-plus I wasn't sure what happened so I brought you here to my apartment. I tried my best to bandage your wounds and you sort of ended up in my lap so…"

The ice lined black orbs dilated with barely concealed suspicion. The blond's tone lowered to a fearsome, crooning purr. His hot lips traced Mail's jawline.

"So you took off my _clothes _and made out with my corpse?"

The pale translucent skin of Mail's face seemed to become saturated in a crimson flush. His obvious discomfort seemed to propel through every part of his body as he visibly reeled with distress.

"N-no! I mean yes, but I only undressed you so I could access your injuries! Your clothes are folded right over there-I swear! I wasn't trying to take advantage of you or a-anything. Please, you have to believe me. And I didn't _make out_ with you-it was just a peck…like how you would kiss your sister…err I mean brother…shit."

A generous silence breached the heavy air of the room.

Mail shut his eyes again, sinking into an unpleasant pool of coiled apprehension and intense humiliation. There was no way he was escaping some sort of penalty. He should really learn to keep his damn mouth shut. And his hands-no, his _lips_ to himself. Mail could felt wild vibrations coming from the body above him and he was positive that the golden man was quivering with anger. That is, until he heard a bubbling silky chuckle slip out. It turned out that the blond chap was actually completely hysterical with laughter. The stranger gasped as he tried to form words and failed.

His maltreated burly chest was quaking with hilarity. He was sniggering somewhat uncontrollably. Uniform white teeth were exposed in a carefree, almost childlike grin. Just like his voice, the stranger's laugh was captivating and euphonious. Mail observed in silent amazement just how young the guy looked when he was content. He'd seemed so mature when he was all distraught and battered before. But now he was as light as a canary's feather floating down from an iron cage. It was honestly charming and Mail couldn't help a small, anxious smile of his own. Coming down from his high, the stranger seemed to be trying to regain control of himself.

"I…believe you now. There is no way in _hell_ you could ever be a hitman. You're just a babbling, spineless idiot."

The stranger was still glowing from the aftermath of his hysteria. Looking down at Mail, his glittering blues danced like sunlight touching the sea. Mail sighed softly under the passionate gaze.

"I guess I sort of am."

The redhead's face visibly fell. It wasn't like the stranger's statements were lies, so why did they sting so much? The blond picked up on Mail's distress and took some form of pity on him. Fingertips were tracing his throat again but they were much gentler this time.

"But a kindhearted idiot, who didn't let me rot in the cold. Right?"

"Y-yeah, that's right!"

The blond man had to work to suppress another wave of laughter at how quickly the redhead perked up at the simple praise. The ginger boy was pretty damn trusting to help a questionable stranger in the first place. What type of a moron did that nowadays anyway? Didn't this kid watch the local news? But without this trusting idiot's help he'd certainly be dead. He met the gleaming puppy dog pupils with the intensely purposely gaze of a predatory feline.

"Well Ginger, I suppose you're my knight in shining armor. I guess I owe you one, huh?"

His words turned the redhead into a flustering teenage girl for the second time that night.

"N-no! You don't owe me anything! I just wanted to help…I'm not looking for payment. But…"

"You want me to sleep with you?"

"**NO**! O-of course not! Jeez what is _wrong_ with you?"

"Well, you wouldn't be the first."

"I was _going_ to say that I would like to know your name."

"You can call me Mello."

"Aren't you going to ask my name now?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You're Ginger to me."

"I'm not going to respond to that!"

"Why the hell not?"

"It's degrading. It's like, a dog's name."

"I think it suits you."

Mail's face contorted into a weak attempt at anger. Just because he wasn't all rugged and rough didn't mean that he deserved such a humiliating, meager nickname!

Mello smirked and caressed the redhead's burning cheeks. It was refreshing to be around someone who didn't get violent when they were angry, or even had trouble mustering anger in the first place. This kid really was kind of cute. Under different circumstances, Mello would fuck the shit out of him-consent or not.

But there was no way that could happen now. Now that he was aware that this kid had saved his life, he would never hurt him. Not physically at least.

"Ginger?"

"...Y-yes?"

"What is there to eat around this dump? I'm starving."

Mail let out a sigh that was muffled by the weight of Mello's torso.

"I'll see what I can do. But first you have to get off of me!"

* * *

About an hour later, the two men were huddled around the cracked counter top of Mail's kitchen area. Mello had dressed again in his leather pants and heavy jacket and Mail was still wearing his crumpled work clothes. Rich aromas of cheese and bread filled the previous stale air of the small room. A timer beeped, liquids were poured, and there was the clank of cheap silverware. Mail and Mello sat side by side with two steaming bowls of soup, which they voraciously began devouring. Between their furious slurps, Mail somehow found time to interject awkward conversation.

"This soup is…delicious!"

Mello glanced over at his companion, who was lapping up soup from his tarnished spoon furiously. Mail's freckled face shone with so much glee it was almost pathetic. The redhead swallowed the hot contents of his ceramic bowl eagerly and sopped up the muddy broth with the crust of his bread.

He perversely thought about another circumstance that would make Ginger swallow like that. He could see those soft pink lips hollowed as they sucked his cock, his leather gloved fingers tangled in shaggy red locks, that pink tongue frantically licking his tip like an ice cream cone, the soft gagging noises as he forced him to take the whole organ down his throat…God, he needed to stop.

Downing a mouthful of his own, Mello managed to keep himself in check by providing a hostile exterior presence. He narrowed his eyes at Mail in mock annoyance.

"What the hell are you talking about? It's an old onion, some milk, and some cheese. I wouldn't even feed this crap to a stray cat."

Mail choked a little on his spoonful.

"Wha-I was just trying to compliment you! It seems like you really have talent at cooking. All I can make is cereal."

"Well, thanks I guess. I'm used to cooking for one so I'm glad you like it."

"Yeah of course I do! I mean, I usually just get takeout but it's nice to have company."

"I suppose."

"So…I told you I was a computer programmer, right? What do you do for a living?"

"I manage a nightclub."

"Um, what's your favorite TV show?"

"I don't watch much television. I suppose I like violent shows the best."

"Well what about video games?"

"Video games are for little boys."

"Your favorite food then?"

"Chocolate."

"How about-"

"Ginger, you sure ask a lot of questions. Why do I get the feeling you're a loner or something?"

Mail briefly gazed down into his now empty soup bowl.

"Uh, well I guess that's because I kind of am. I was an orphan, a loser in college, and I'm a bit of an outcast at work."

"Well that's…pathetic."

Mello felt a tiny lump flowering in his throat and he swallowed it instantly. He couldn't believe that he felt sorry for this sap, let alone that he was physically attracted to him. He seriously needed to get out of here. Besides, he had pressing business to attend to. Mello slid out of his rickety chair and affectionately ran his fingers through Mail's chaotic tresses.

"Listen Ginger, I actually have to run…"

"You're leaving?"

Mail was visibly distraught. Mello felt like he was violently kicking a puppy.

"Well yeah. I have a lot of professional matters that need to be taken care of."

Mail suddenly experienced a very unpleasant flashback of a beautifully battered body lying in the crimson snow. He twiddled his thumbs nervously.

"Oh okay, um, I understand. Just make sure you follow up on caring for your injuries."

Mello leaned towards Mail again with another forceful visual connection. His hands grasped Mail's shoulders and his face became hard with solemnity. His lips erotically brushed Mail's as he practically sat in the boy's lap. He slipped a tiny piece of cardstock into the pocket of Mail's shirt.

"Ginger, I was serious before. When I said I owed you my life it's true. I don't have that much to offer but you can have my protection or my body anytime you want. I mean it. You have my card."

And with that bold declaration, Mello pressed his mouth to Mail's in a voluntary, steamy kiss. Mail moaned softly as his throat was viciously fucked by Mello's tongue. The natural dominance that seemed to radiate from Mello's pores was a helpless turn on. Mail couldn't believe that this perfect man _wanted_ to do this with him and whether or not he was willing or ready to admit it, he wanted it too.

The wet kiss was hot and desperate, and neither man seemed to be able to get enough of each other. Mello was the first to pull away; forcing himself to disengage from Mail's warm body before the situation advanced to a point where he knew he would lose control. Pants of suppressed lust filled the room and Mello tried to keep his voice steady and his face blank as he hastily headed for the exit.

"Well Ginger, it's been fun. I know I'll see you around."

"Bye, Mello..."

Then the rickety door unceremoniously slammed shut, and Mail was left alone with a tiny business card and a stomach full of churning emotion. He hadn't realized how much he hated being alone until he'd had someone stay with him, even if that someone was possibly involved in illicit activity and a tad rough around the edges. Mail still thought Mello was the greatest thing to ever happen to him. Mello seemed like some sort of elusive dream, and Mail wasn't sure if he would ever be ready to wake up. Would he even get to see him again? Or take him up on one of his _offers_?

Mail laid on the couch that he'd been pinned against just a few hours earlier. He could still smell Mello's metallic musk infused into the worn fabric and for some reason it made him feel oddly melancholy.

It was definitely time for a smoke.


	4. Pink Lady

**Mihael "Mello" Keehl**

**Executive Manager**

**Charm Lounge Inc.**

**888-888-888**

Mail Jeevas's jaded gaze traced the impeccably inked cardstock over and over as he examined it in his careful grasp.

For the thousandth time, he wondered what exactly the Charm Lounge was, where it was located, and why there wasn't a goddamn address printed on the business card. Something in his raw gut told him that the operation that Mello was seemingly in charge of was shady at best. But instead of being repelled, Mail was helplessly and absolutely intrigued.

He was also supposed to be working.

Mail glanced at the polished ivory phone sitting innocently at his desk. It seemed to coo to him softly like a dove. It beckoned him to touch it and use it shamelessly to search for trouble; for Mello.

He reached a quaking freckled hand towards the receiver and then retracted it back with a frustrated sigh.

Mail wished that he could dial the perplexing number but he wasn't able gather enough courage to do so. Besides, what would he say? Mello had vowed to protect him or please him but he didn't necessary _need_ either one of those offers. He just wanted to be near the other man, smell his coppery scent, touch his soft blonde hair, and hear his honeyed voice. Anything else seemed like icing on the cake. Mail felt very much like a love-struck adolescent female, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

Mello had only been present in a fraction of his life but the blond had managed to tint his existence into an entirely different hue. Mail found his typical daydreams becoming more realistic and his inexperienced body craving unspeakable things at the worst times possible.

Now was one of those times.

Unconsciously, his hand drifted down to his heavily clothed crotch. Mail closed his speckled eyelids and imagined a familiar moist tongue teasing the back of his throat. Mail was _positive_ that Mello was accomplished at using his wicked mouth in a variety of sensual ways. He wanted Mello's tongue to taste every part of him. He wanted blue eyes to burn him with explicit violation, and glove hands to stroke his body lustily. Mail clumsily fumbled with the zipper of his corduroy work pants. His fingers worked desperately to create physical friction to compliment his thoughts. A barely audible moan escaped chapped lips.

A quiet "ahem" gently interrupted the beginning of his intimate daydreaming.

Mail rapidly fished his hands out of his pants and rested them as innocently as he could atop his desk. He couldn't believe that he'd been about to wank at work…but then again, he was well aware that some of his sketchy coworkers had committed far worse misconducts. Mail willed his fired cheeks to settle to a manageable blaze and tried to plaster a semi respectable expression on his face. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a compact packet of paperclips in another attempt to appear less flustered.

As always, he started slightly as he met the empty gray eyes of his new boss Nate Rivers, who was waiting patiently for him to recover.

Mail tried not to stare at Nate and failed miserably. It wasn't like he was the only one struck by the man's exotic looks and even more bizarre demeanor. Nate looked like he was a polished twelve year old boy, even though he was actually in his twenties. Mr. Rivers couldn't have been more than five feet tall and his faded gray work suit swallowed him whole. His hands were delicately molded marshmallows; flawless, pliable, and unmarred. His stark white curls bordered his oversized steel irises and his lips were a naturally vibrant pink. His droning voice was as monotone as crackling television static. He cleared his pallid throat again.

"Mail, would you mind if I ask you a somewhat personal question?"

Mail willed himself not to be freaked out by Nate's flat gaze and lack of expression.

"Um, no…"

Nate reached out, too quickly for a normal human, and snatched the business card from Mail's cluttered desk. Mail stifled the juvenile urge to viciously grab the card back. Nate scanned the text with automated eyes.

"What is the significance of this business card? I have observed you gazing at it from the moment you begin working for me."

Mail opened his mouth, and then closed it with a soft creak of his jaw. He ran his thin fingers through his sloppy haircut. Heat seemed to prick his neck and cheeks almost violently. His stiff collar threatened to choke him. He was positively drowning in crimson embarrassment. Mail's voice splintered painfully as he tried to verbally assemble the pieces of a humiliating, personal, and confusing puzzle.

"Ermmm, that's ah…it's…I…I'm really sorry, Nate…I can…um, not look at it anymore."

A tight smirk twisted the right corner of Nate's customarily horizontal mouth. Mail's pupils dilated in shock.

"Mail."

Mail was certain that he was going to be fired.

"Y-yes?"

"Is this a place that you would like to visit? I can take you there after our shifts end if you want."

Mail felt the world warp like a disjointed whirlpool. His red ears burned painfully in disbelief and he was sure he gasped quietly aloud. _Nate_ of all people knew where this place was and was willing to take him there despite his inattention to detail for the entire time he'd transferred?

This was too strange; it was a terrible plan.

No, this was the answer to his fucking prayers.

Mail's mouth formed words before his scrambled mind could catch up. He seemed to have lost all sensation within his hollow chest.

"Y-yeah Nate, that would be…nice. I'd appreciate that."

Nate's mouth did the odd twisting thing again. He seemed strangely excited in a way that made Mail's stomach curl.

"Excellent. We shall depart at precisely five o'clock. I will drive."

* * *

The twilight air was misted and crystallized with dew. Clouds puffed around buildings to form natural halos and the city lights slowly blossomed to light like budding wildflowers in an urban meadow. Lately the tumultuous weather had been gloomily stormy and charged with static, but tonight the atmosphere was cleared to crisp cold air.

Mail shyly peeked out through the translucent car window of Nate's electric vehicle. The tan seat leather felt buttery against his fingertips. The car smelled virginal and the windows were so transparent that it was hard to tell if they were open or closed. The modern engine was a barely audible, purring whir. Mail had never been in a car this nice, and he was genuinely afraid to touch any part of it. He folded his hands carefully in his lap and remained uncharacteristically silent.

Nate gripped the steering wheel tightly and his snowy brow barely reached over the dashboard. His aggressive turns around the concrete metropolitan corners were extraordinarily sharp. He never moved his hands or blinked as he focused all of his energy on driving at a fixed pace. Time spun luxuriously, like a rhythmic spinning top.

Mail allowed his drooping eyes to slip shut and he fell into a gentle slumber.

When his eyes opened to the blackness of the night sky, Mail noticed that they were beginning to enter the shadier area of the city, closer to where he lived. The traffic had subsided and Nate cruised lightly down the crowded city streets. Mail observed homeless people halfheartedly carrying cardboard signs and convenience store lights flashing in a provocative blurs as they were passed.

Eventually, the two males reached a modest parking lot next to a dimly isolated alleyway. Nate rolled his vehicle into an intimate space in the back, and then turned to Mail with a boyish grin.

"We have arrived. Now we wait."

"Wait for what?"

"…"

"…"

"…"

Mail fidgeted with nervous impatience. Nate remained infuriatingly still.

"_Nate_…"

"Hush, Mail."

Mail followed Nate's eyes to a blurred shape that had appeared at a nearby streetlight. As the form approached, Mail could see that it was a woman. She was wearing a cropped pastel pink gown that hugged her amble curves tightly. Her feathery strawberry blonde hair reached her waist and a red pout was painted to her face. Her cherry eyelashes were long enough to tickle her cheeks when she blinked coquettishly. She clacked in the direction of the parking lot on high heeled wings and stopped patiently a few cars away from them.

Nate silently turned off the car's engine and motioned for Mail to get out of the car with him. The two of them walked towards the woman, who was leaning coyly against an expensive black convertible. She winked at Nate, who boldly slipped a small arm around her waist. Her coal smudged eyes met Mail's. She radiated musky rogue.

"Is this a friend of yours, Nathan?"

Her voice felt like crimson manicured nails dragged down his naked back. Mail swallowed slightly and avoided her hot, mascara framed stare.

"Yes. Cherry, this is Mail. He will join us tonight."

"Hello, Mail."

Her voice was thick and it vibrated deeply into Mail's shaky core.

"Hi, Cherry."

Mail cringed as his raspy tenor awkwardly penetrated the night air and he flushed at the bubbling feminine chuckle that followed. Cherry winked at Mail and clutched tighter to Nate. She angled her luscious body towards the flashing city.

"You boys ready?"

Cherry led them back to the alleyway. At first glance, it appeared that there was nothing but spotty concrete ground and dumpsters. But upon closer inspection, Mail noticed a heavily bolted wooden door was concealed within the darkest crook. The small barred window with a peephole reminded Mail very much of a vintage imagined himself in a pinstriped gangster suit, with an imposing pistol proudly concealed in sharp trousers. He blinked and adjusted his glasses in embarrassment as reality slowed faded back in. Now was not the time for daydreams. This was real life, and Mello was closer than ever.

Mail could feel it in his bones.

Cherry leaned her trim body against the door frame. She rapped sharply five times with her sharp fingernails curled into a pointy fist.

"Daddy, it's me."

Mail could hear a stifled booming chuckle from behind the weighty door. His heart involuntarily flopped like a wet fish inside his ribcage. He looked to Nate for reassurance but the gray pools were impassively focused on Cherry. Brass clicks and the sounds of silver gear shifts revealed that there were countless locks on the other side. When the metallic noises ceased, a giant man stepped out from behind the door and held it open graciously.

"Rod darling, so nice to see you."

Cherry planted a generous matte lipstick kiss to the side of Rod's meaty cheek. His thick legs and muscle gnarled biceps reminded Mail of twisted tree trunks. The massive man let out a hum of pleasure directed towards her and then ran distrustful eyes over Mail and Nate.

"Alright, they're good to go. You two enjoy yourselves."

Mail noted that there was a bit too much emphasis on the word _enjoy_. He also noted that directly behind the little entrance hallway there was an apparently endless dark cavern leading _elsewhere_. The place reminded him of a dungeon. He could see glowing stone walls, a dark chamber, and a ravenous scaly dragon. Cherry was the Beauty and Rod was the Beast and then there was an albino and a redhead and damn, he needed to focus.

Mail belatedly realized that the others had been talking to him the whole time. He shrugged his shoulders in a sheepish apology. Rod rolled his eyes and then nodded to Cherry.

She giggled and impatiently motioned for them to follow her again. Her white eye shadow glistened and winked in the moonlight. Nate and Mail shadowed her through the isolated pitch black tunnel. There were no windows and the path was framed with plain steel walls that pushed their shoulders in. Mail had the sense that the passage was building, leading up to an explosive climax. He had terrible night vision, so he was forced to slip his hand into Cherry's wickedly soft one. Her whisper was like baby's breath in his ear and he shuddered.

"Almost there."

All he could do was trust her and move towards the sparkling trace of light in the distance.

* * *

Mail could feel the music before he heard it. It was an electrifying, throbbing beat that seemed to inject itself into his waiting veins. As their small party drew closer and closer to the rosy lights ahead, the music and Mail's beating heart drastically increased in volume.

A few moments later the tunnel expanded fully, the pressure of claustrophobia was lifted, and Mail found himself bathed in dazzlingly dancing pink light.

His shining green irises took in the elegant crystal chandeliers, the glimmering canopy lounge beds, the shining silver poles with lithe bodes erotically draped over them, the exquisite buffet tables of varied cuisine, the modern blue tinted bar, and the swaying, beautiful bodies of the club guests. The lounge was gorgeous, and Mail felt a strange sense of pride that Mello managed such an elite place. With his plain work clothes and dork laced demeanor, Mail felt that he certainly did not belong here. He reluctantly sensed his aura shifting from happiness to something far more desolate and devastating. He looked down at the glittery floor in suppressed shame and refused to make eye contact with anyone.

Just then, Cherry drifted over to him. Her delicate hands clasped his burning cheeks and she forcefully brought his wavering gaze up to engage her fiery one. Mail gasped quietly as he felt her obviously bare crotch rubbing moistly against his work slacks. She obviously had the wrong idea, because there was only one person he wanted in this entire club and she lacked the proper anatomy to even be eligible.

Mail wondered where Nate had gone, until he glimpsed the white haired man leaning fondly against the sizable bosom of a blonde dancer. At the same time, Cherry's hands invaded the pockets of his collared shirt and she hungrily mouthed his neck with staining red lips. They reminded Mail of frog lips; drooly and far too moist. He physically winced under the assault. Unfortunately, through the party induced shock, Mail couldn't quite find the strength to push her off. He slowly opened his mouth to explain to her that he wasn't interested.

That was a mistake.

Cherry slipped a tiny white pill between his lips and roughly kissed it down his throat. Instinctively, he gripped her petite smooth arms in shock and she squealed in delighted lust. Mail choked, gasped, and sputtered but it was too late. He pushed the little red haired girl off with disgust. He glared into Cherry's heavily dilated pupils.

"W-what was that?"

"Just a little something to help you loosen up."

"How could you-"

But before Mail could finish forming his angry sentence he found his field of vision invaded by little black speckles. Speaking, and even thinking instantly became challenging tasks for him. The music and voices of other partygoers hummed, slowed, and slurred in his ears. Mail's eyelids fluttered furiously and his knees buckled.

Thin, feminine arms caught him and began to drag him through crowded throngs of people. He was aware of Cherry's sugary perform scorching his nose and a thickly cloying sensation that began in his head and traveled throughout his entire system. Mail could feel his body being pushed down onto silky sheets and he looked up to find himself snuggled within a towering cocoon of fabric. Through heavy lashes he could see that Cherry was slowly slipping out of her tight pink dress and reaching over to unbutton his shirt.

"N-nnnoooo…"

Mail's voice was garbled and his thoughts were coated in the drug equivalent of sticky molasses. He didn't want this; especially from this female escort. He wished that he had never come to this place, but it was all for Mello. Mentally he felt unspeakable sadness welling up inside. Mello was absolutely nowhere in sight. Maybe he didn't even own this club and he'd played him this whole time. Regardless he knew that people like himself didn't belong in places like these for a reason. Mail could never fit into a scene like this…a scene that Mello created and probably thrived in.

Regrettably, Mail's drug pumped body ignored any foggy emotional signals from his mind and chose to respond, quite literally, to a more primal and pressing stimulation. Cherry had managed to slip his member out of his pants and was running smooth wet lips over his tip. Mail groaned in frustration and fidgeted helplessly under her grasp. This seemed to have the opposite effect, and she took his length completely down her throat with a wet pop of suction.

"G-god…that's…you're…please stop, please…I want…I want Mello…"

The redhead stopped her ministrations and brazenly looked up at him from between his spread legs. Her plucked eyebrows arched at a sharp angle and her lips pursed in thought. As opposed to annoyance, her expression softened into mild puzzlement. Mail was sure that she didn't get his sort of reaction very often from her clientele. Cherry regarded him with open curiosity.

"Did you say Mello? As in, Mihael? The owner?"

So he was at the right club. Mail felt a slight stab of pathetic reassurance.

"Y-yeah…"

Cherry rested her elbows on Mail's naked thighs. Mail stared at her in disbelief as she perched herself nonchalantly in front of his exposed erection. He vaguely wondered if being a whore made you desensitized to tenderness or bodily influenced sensitivity. He watched Cherry's face morphed into girlish innocence and she smiled sweetly as she thought about Mello.

"Mihael is really pretty isn't he?"

"Y-yeah…"

Mail chided himself for failing at any aspect of verbal eloquence, but Cherry didn't seem to mind. She had a far off, softened dreamy look at the mention of Mello's name.

"Mihael is actually a really wonderful person. I think…I like him the best out of all my managers. He's so guarded, y'know? But I feel like he's guarding really valuable treasures. Like, he has a heart of gold or something. Oh gosh, I'm rambling! I'm so stupid, don't listen to anything I say. I must of had more drinks than I thought!"

Cherry blushed at her own words.

"No…it's…I think I know what you mean."

Mail met her eyes and sought to reassure her. The two of them shared a tender moment of silence.

That is, until Mail realized that he was still in a state of unwanted partial nudity and that Cherry was much too close to his manhood for his liking. She chuckled at his instant blush of humiliation and his fervent attempts to dress himself with his sluggishly intoxicated limbs.

"Please, could you pull my pants back up for me? I can't move because of the pill you gave me. You're really pretty but I d-don't want to have s-sex with you."

Cherry smiled crookedly and genuinely at Mail. He noticed that underneath her heavy makeup, she looked very much like a seventeen year old girl. Her bright irises shone with the pure desire to be accepted and the friendliness of a lonely child. Mail secretly pitied her.

"Yeah, sure! Of course, I'm sorry about this…I guess I assumed you were just like the rest. I didn't mean to violate you or anything."

Mail's eyes crinkled with good-natured forgiveness.

"It's okay; I'm sorry that I yelled at you before. I just really n-need to find Mello."

Cherry confidentially leaned over Mail and reached behind him to gently pull up his pants from the back.

"Damn, your belt is stuck. Hang on a second..."

She cradled his drooping neck to her chest in an attempt to support his spine while she tried to untwist his coiled leather belt from around his waist. Mail leaned into her small chest, grateful for the added warmth she provided with her beating heart and lingerie clad breasts.

Both of them unconsciously released contented, peaceful sighs.

At that very moment, light spilled into the intimate fabric tower as the curtain was viciously pulled back. A sleek blond head pushed through without hesitation and stared in open shock at the exposed bodies of two gorgeous redheads. Twin heartbeats increased as they scanned the appallingly familiar features of the intruder. Dual sets of forest tinted irises gradually took in the beautifully twisted lips, the modelesque angled jawline, the icy blue pools of iris, and the yellow locks of silk.

There was a tense moment of breathy silence, and then the previously heated air was instantly frosted by a hissing tone of amused suspicion.

"What the hell is this?"


	5. Lucid

The air seemed to sparkle into vivacious peaks of color, then feather down like avian plumage. Within a plethora of soft cloth, three glimmering irises made wary, intimate contact.

Cherry released a breathy gasp of estrogen fueled surprise and tried frantically to pull her redheaded companion's pants and boxers over his freckled hips. Her brass bracelets jingled an agitated tune. The pearly outline of her naked sides expanded and contracted with every nervous breath she gulped.

Hollow blue eyes took in a sickeningly delightful feast of skin. Mello swallowed, stepped forward, and then drew back again to compose himself. Raw emotion seemed to seep from his pores and propel through the strained veins in his throat. His expression was a deathly combination of lust and anger.

Mail sluggishly watched Mello's pupils dilate until his icy eyes became glistening lumps of shiny coal. Instinctively he wanted to panic, but his altered brain refused to send the proper signals to his body. Red blossomed contagiously from his cheeks to Mihael's and then Cherry's. Despite his best efforts, Mail was unable to lose his hard on and he knew that his companions could feel and see the humiliating evidence. He couldn't decide whether to run or lay passively in utter, delicious submission.

The whole situation was insane, wonderful, awful, the worst; and the very best that he'd ever had.

Cherry finally succeeded in clothing Mail again and she hastily detangled her trembling body from his. Her red pout struggled to form shaky syllables. Mascara pooled in muddy drops around her eyelashes. She shakily rose to her feet and took a tentative step towards Mello.

"Mihael…this is…I didn't know that you two…"

With a controlled lunge, Mello caught Cherry in a harsh embrace. He stroked her soft hair and her pallid cheeks the way a child would touch a prized doll. His hand grasped her swanlike throat gently and his gaze scorched into hers.

She couldn't meet his eyes.

The blond's lips tickled her ear and she whimpered. Goosebumps bloomed across her exposed skin and she shivered helplessly in Mello's muscled arms. She flinched as his hand slid to her chin and moaned into his throat when his mouth devoured hers.

Mail's stomach knotted as he watched and for a fleeting moment he couldn't decide who he was more envious of. Mello's rumbling purr made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He cruelly met Mail's eye as he smothered the redheaded girl in rough kisses.

"Shhh…stop shaking. You've done nothing wrong my dear."

"Mihael, I'm sorry…I didn't know you two knew each other…"

"Why Cherry darling, it's Ginger who should be apologizing. You went to all this trouble to pleasure him and he didn't even attempt to return the favor. What an absolute _brute_."

Mail opened his mouth to protest but Mello's wolfish grin silenced him immediately.

The blond spun Cherry around so his hands rested on her slim nude hips and glided over her supple breasts. He slid a heated palm up her inner thigh and savored the little hitch in her breath from his touch. He pressed his crotch to her lace covered ass and used his weight to guide her back towards Mail.

He stopped when her waist was adjacent to the other man's coppery head. With a hum of approval, Mello positioned her delicate hands to rest on the redhead's shoulders. Her glittering eyes nervously met Mail's for the second time. Both knew instinctively that this could be the worst or the best night of their lives.

Mello bit the fragile skin under Cherry's chin; causing another helpless noise to escape her full lips. Mail felt her sharp nails dig painfully into his shoulder as Mello groped her from behind.

"You stay there, baby."

Mihael walked behind the velvety loveseat so that he was leaning over Mail's sprawled form from the back. His hands found the redhead's jawbone and he tilted it backwards until Mail's pliable throat was exposed. For a terrifying moment, the redhead thought the blond was going to break his neck.

Then, soft lips connected to his and their tongues joined in a familiar lusty tangle. Mail hadn't realized how much he'd missed, how much he'd _craved_ Mello's presence and touch.

He couldn't believe how much the suffocating, possessive wetness of the other's mouth on his aroused him. The familiar craving pumped through him and burned his bones.

He couldn't believe that it was really Mello who was holding him, caressing him so crudely, yet with such desperate affection. Time blurred and faded as Mail melted into the blond's touch.

He liked that the blond was making such a show of claiming him, and he was turned on even more by Cherry's forced voyeuristic presence. She watched with a timid hunger that slowly drove him insane. He knew that Mello wouldn't hesitate to take either one of them right in front of the other.

As the two men finally broke apart for air, Mail wondered how such an intimate act could feel so right with someone he barely knew. He blearily took in the attractive image of an upside down Mello: graceful hands firmly place on his sides, expectant blues cast upon him, strident smirk fixed into place.

"Ginger, I'm glad you showed up tonight. I've been thinking about you."

"R-really?"

Mail's doe like expression, tousled locks, and dilated pupils made him irresistible to the blond. Mello's lip curled, and his fingers teased the redhead's collarbone. He harshly nipped Matt's blushing earlobe. His throaty voice lowered to a tickling whisper.

"I want you, Mail. Do you want me?"

Mail felt a jolt of arousal at Mello using his proper name. His mouth felt too dry, and his beating heart drowned out his auditory abilities.

He did want Mello.

But in a strange moment of logical clarity, Mail realized that he didn't want him now; not here, and not like this.

His chest tightened as he came to the frightening realization that he desired so much more than physical intimacy with the blond.

He wanted Mello's smile, his crinkling blue eyes; his graceful hands.

He wanted to know everything about him; past, present and future.

He wanted Mello's heart, his spirit, his…

"Well, Ginger? I'm waiting."

The blond's eyes pulsed darkly into his through a delicate shade of yellow lashes. Cherry's muted, gentle breaths colored the stagnant air with white noise.

Mail closed his eyes and panted softly in an attempt to clear his racing head and raging body. He had to tell Mello what he was thinking, how his heart had just fucking expanded inside his chest.

"I…"

"Are you shy? I could ask Cherry to leave if you'd like."

Cherry met Mail's shining gaze and gave a slight smile combined with a nod of silent encouragement. Unfortunately, her innocent gestures had the opposite effect of their intent.

Mail could sense a tightening of the atmosphere around Mello even before he turned to look back into the blond's eyes.

"Or maybe, you want her to_ stay_?"

Mail felt as if a ton of bricks hit him in his chest.

"Mello, that's not it!"

Mello's mouth became a sharp ridge. His perfectly shaped eyebrows arched at a painful angle.

"I think that's exactly it."

Cherry's soprano softly interjected. She placed a tentative hand over Mello's.

"Mihael, please don't act this way. It isn't like that."

Mello's hand closed protectively around hers, and the faint glimmer of hurt in his eyes was quickly glossed over with smug disassociation.

"It's alright love; I'll let you two have your privacy. I have a club to run anyway. Just make sure you get back to work when you're finished here."

Mail felt like the whole ordeal happened in agonizing slow motion. He felt Mello's body heat pulling away from him, felt his ears mourning the loss of the other's heartbeat, saw the glassy eyes narrow, darken, and then close as the blond turned his head. The blond's voice was sarcastically sweet to mask his perceived humiliation.

"I really thought we had something."

Mail balked. He couldn't let Mello get away.

Not again.

Never again.

Mail took a breath through his bruised lips and released a crackling plea.

"Mihael, _please_! You're the one I want. I came here for you."

His pleading tone prompted Mello to turn around abruptly.

The blond strode over the redhead and bent over him again, this time with a tender, unwavering embrace. He buried his face behind red locks into a freckly neck and breathed in the cinnamon spice that was pure Mail. He needed to face his true feelings.

It was intoxicating for him to be near the red haired man, and unbearable to be without him. He was _terrified _needing the redhead, terrified of needing anyone, and yet he still felt this way about a stranger...

Mello closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against Mail's ear.

"I missed you Ginger, I missed you way too much…you feel it too, don't you?"

Mail felt his heart slowly begin to solidify inside his chest. With the other man so close, it became hard for him to think, even to breathe.

"Yes...I-I feel the same way…"

Despite her awe inspired curiosity, Cherry moved subtlety out of the room and closed the curtain. She'd seen lovers before, but never anything quite like this, and she didn't want anything to tamper with such a powerful bond.

Mail touched his spotty nose to Mihael's smooth one and shyly met his dancing irises.

They were together at last.

* * *

"M-Mello, oh, _oh_…"

Mail's lips stumbled clumsily over his words.

The blond was on top of him, showering him with wet tastes of tongue that rogued and bruised his most tender skin.

Mello's want was earnest, carnal and uncomplicated; unabashed and unreserved.

He wanted to bury himself inside the tight heat that was Mail. He wanted to make the ginger boy scream. He wanted to ride him hard against a wall and take all that he could until their bodies couldn't physically handle the ecstasy. They could deal with _feelings_ another time.

But Mail's want was layered and delicate, bubbling under the surface.

The redhead felt their connection on a physical and metaphysical level; and it threatened to undo him completely. He struggled for breath. The mental level of closeness he felt with Mello after such a short time made it hard to think about anything else. Mail whimpered as Mello's devious hand cupped his manhood through his pants.

It was too much, too soon…

"M-Mello, wait."

The blond murmured a sound of reluctant ascent. His instincts told him that the redhead was a virgin in more ways than one, and he didn't want the beautiful thing they were building together to violently shatter because he couldn't control himself.

He pulled his hand away and moved his mouth up Mail's pale torso until his lips met the redhead's for a chaste kiss. He smirked at the other's expression of shock.

"You look like you were expecting a fight. Do you think I'm some type of rapist?"

Mello's eyes were luminous in the dim lighting.

"Well, no…I guess I just thought you wouldn't be okay with stopping so suddenly after all of this."

Mail looked up earnestly and Mello could see tears threatening to spill over red lashes. He cupped Mail's cheeks and touched their noses together intimately.

"No, of course it's okay. I'm okay with just about anything when it comes to you."

Mello's face flushed instantly with heat. The words seemed to have left him mouth without his conscious permission. He couldn't believe he'd actually said that; especially to Mail.

He cleared his throat roughly and pulled slightly away.

"How are you feeling? Did the drug wear off yet?"

"Yeah, my head finally stopped spinning. I think I can even walk."

Mail let out a crackling chuckle. Mello mockingly rolled his eyes.

"Well then _Ginger_, do you want to get out of here?"

Mail's gaze drifted across the fabric cloaked lounge, then to the windowed sliver of the pulsing nightclub outside. It seemed like he and Mello had created their own little world.

"Would I…would I get to leave with you?"

"Yes."

"Then yeah, of course I do."

Mello smiled to himself and gave the redhead a mischievous wink.

"How do you feel about motorcycles?"

* * *

Mail Jeevas had never been on a motorcycle before.

He'd read about them, watched them, and even seen them in person but he'd never imagined that they felt quite like this.

Now his long fingers clung onto Mello's leather jacket for dear life as the cityscape was put onto violent fast-forward. The bike hummed like a predatory feline and rumbled with mechanical energy as they literally rushed through the midnight traffic.

Mello had impeccable control, and Mail couldn't help admiring how precise his gear shifts were.

As Mello gripped the handlebars, he couldn't help noticing elegant the blond's fingers looked in his black riding gloves. Blond strands tickled his nose and Mail inhaled deeply. Mello's hair smelled rich and sweet; he was wearing sugary cologne that suited him perfectly. The redhead could feel the bond's rippled muscles straining through his tight shirt with every turn. The shift and grind of their clothed hips was starting to become seriously uncomfortable, but not in a bad way.

Shit. He was the one who'd said he didn't want sex.

_So why did he feel this way now?_

Mail unconsciously tensed his body and loosened his iron grip around Mello's chest.

Unfortunately, nothing escaped Mello.

"You okay back there?"

The blond's voice was breathless with the energetic thrill that could only come from riding a motorcycle through the city at night. He obviously hadn't noticed Mail's little problem yet.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine."

Mail's voice was sharper than he intended.

"Jeez, alright. You don't have to be embarrassed if you're getting sick. We can just pull over."

"Mello, no-"

Mello swerved suddenly, pushing Mail's traitorous body flush against his. They pulled into the back of a deserted shopping plaza and the bike screeched to an abrupt halt.

To the blond's indignant surprise, Mail immediately let go of him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Mail seemed to be fumbling with something behind him, but Mello couldn't see what was going on in the dim, early morning light.

"I-it's nothing…just stop talking."

Even the blond's voice was sexy; a low husky timber that made him ache.

Mail had to get himself under control but Mello was making that impossible.

"No way, Ginger. Talk to me, come on…"

Mello turned around to give Mail a reassuring embrace for the second time that night, and that's when he felt the telltale bulge in the redhead's pants.

He wasn't going to escape this time.

A sick smirk spread across the blond's features. He shamelessly rubbed their crotches together; provoking a reluctant moan from the redhead. His tongue began to violate Mail's earlobe.

"Heh…so that's what this is really about, huh? Am I making you hot again?"

Mail was mortified, and he struggled stubbornly under the blond's unwavering advances.

"Mello, off! Off! I-I don't want this; it's just the bike was vibrating a lot and…"

Mello grabbed both of Mail's flailing arms and gave him a firm glance of resignation.

"Cut the bullshit, Mail. Just let me take care of you. We can talk after we_ finish_ this, okay?"

In nervous frustration Mail looked, really _looked_ at his partner.

This was the beautiful stranger whose life he'd saved, who'd stopped sexually when he'd been told before, and who let Mail ride his motorcycle. Mello had never seemed untrustworthy before, so why not trust him now?

He met Mello's blazing gaze and nodded softly in assent.

Mello kissed his forehead and brought his body significantly closer to Mail's.

"I won't hurt you."

Mail gasped helplessly as a leather clad hand reached inside his boxers and crassly handled his throbbing erection.


	6. Crimson

Time was a flashing light bulb, energy pulsing in and out in violent electric waves.

Sensation was a ticking clock, jumping sharply under bones for every minute and smoothing gliding over flesh for every second.

And love?

Love was a lone ripple on the surface of a whirlpool, dissolving and fading yet still somehow existing in a sea of chaos.

* * *

Mail Jeevas was vaguely aware of the blinking headlights of passing vehicles,

the low chatter of after partying teenagers,

and the leaden pre-dawn clouds that greedily filled the sky.

But mostly, he was aware of the feeling of Mello's gloved hand wrapped so intimately around him, pumping him in careful yet demanding strokes.

Mail tried and failed to not be aroused by how easy he was to please, or how damn experienced Mello was, or the fact that they were doing this in _public_.

He writhed in the blond's powerful grip, but this time he moved closer instead of further away. He'd never felt anything like this, never trusted anyone to touch him or give him pleasure, and he hadn't expected it to happen like this.

"Fuck, Mello…"

As the hand pleasuring him sped up, he knew that he wouldn't be lasting long.

"Yeah, baby? Feels good like that?"

Mail's response was a strained masculine groan and an arch of his back. He tangled the fingers of his right hand into Mello's free hand and tried to keep his fluttering lashes open.

Mello hadn't taken his eyes of the redhead since he started pleasuring him.

Mail's closed bliss green eyes, his freckled cheeks contorted in pleasure…even his hands, which were white and gripping onto anything they could all blatantly expressed his reluctant desire and inexperience.

Mello had felt a bit guilty forcing Mail to indulge in his sexual urges but now, listening to Mail's desperate stream of moans, feeling his length pulse in his hand, he knew that he'd made the right choice.

He was surprised that he could control himself; be content just giving the redhead pleasure and not expecting anything in return. This wasn't very common for him; normally he was quite a selfish lover, but Mail was beautiful, virginal, and worthy.

So Mello continued to ignore his own need and gave the ginger haired boy one final pump.

"Ahhhhhhmmm…"

Creamy released coated Mello's gloves and Mail made a noise of completion that sounded almost like a sob.

One, two, three moments of silence passed; the air occasionally penetrated by Mail's soft gasps. The red haired boy looked more like he'd been fucked hard than just given a simple hand job; his mussed hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead and he was flushed from head to toe. After catching his breath, he warily regarded Mello.

Mail looked genuinely nervous, as if more was expected from him.

"Are you alright?"

Mello's voice was a hoarse whisper, and Mail was relieved that he wasn't the only one shaken up by their sudden intimacy.

"Yeah, yeah I'm g-good…but you still need…"

Mail awkwardly gestured to the blond's tight pants.

Mello shifted his leg and tried very hard to physically calm himself down. There was no way he could've done something like that to Mail and not get excited, but he didn't really want the other to know that or feel pressured about it.

"It's fine. I just need a couple minutes…"

"No."

The defiance in Matt's tone took Mello by surprise. Wasn't this what the redhead wanted? Did he feel taken advantage of?

"No?"

He hadn't thought that it was possible for Ginger to get any redder, but he was wrong.

"I-I mean…can I? Let me…"

With a swallow of nervousness, Mail tentatively pinched the teeth of the blond's zipper between his fingers and pulled it down completely to reveal silky black briefs.

"Mail…"

Mello's voice was low and strained, almost as if he was in pain, but Mail knew better. He kissed the blond's temple and smiled bashfully.

"It's okay, I…I want to…"

Shit, there was no way he could argue with that offer.

"Alright. But stop if it…if it's too much."

_Don't you dare stop_, Mello selfishly thought to himself as he parted his legs to allow Mail better access.

At first, the redhead was hesitant, treating the blond to teasingly gentle strokes and looking up every couple of seconds to make sure he wasn't hurting him.

Then he got progressively bolder, swirling his thumb around Mello's tip and eagerly fondling his shaft.

Pre-cum made the job delightfully slick, and soon he was swallowing the blond's moans in his throat. The blond rocked his hips, making his job easy and smooth.

It didn't take long before Mello thrust desperately forward; muffling his hoarse cry of release in Mail's mouth.

"That was…"

Mello paused in a somewhat pathetic attempt to come up with a response.

"That was really great, Ginger."

_When was the last time that sex of any kind had left him speechless?_

_Let alone sex with an awkward red headed kid…_

An awkward red headed kid who was currently sputtering in embarrassment and blushing rather beautifully and trying really hard not to look at his still exposed dick.

"Y-you're welcome."

Mello swallowed the disgustingly affectionate lump in his throat and pulled his pants back up. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring and not perverse manner.

"Are you hungry?"

Mail's eyebrows knitted together in a somewhat suspicious arch.

"Hungry for _what_?"

"Breakfast, dumbass. Do you seriously think I have the stamina to go again so quickly? I'm good, but I'm not that good."

Mail drowned in yet another deep flush.

"S-shut up! Don't flatter yourself."

"What, you didn't enjoy it?"

"Of course I did!"

The still flushed redhead looked up at the pink tinted sky and sighed softly in contentment. It felt good to spend a night with Mello; it felt incredibly _right_ in a way he couldn't describe, and even though he still hadn't gotten to really talk to him yet he was happy.

Like, foolishly, ridiculously happy. Beat the final boss happy. Fairy tale story ending happy…

"Earth to Mail?"

Mail realized his mind had been furiously weaving its typical webs of imagination and he'd been ignoring Mello this whole time.

"Yeah?"

"Do you like breakfast food?"

"Is that a trick question?"

Mello rolled his baby blues in teasing frustration. He was still glowing slightly from the aftermath of orgasm, and Mail basked helplessly in his contagious light.

"Just answer the question."

"Yes _Mihael_, I do. I love breakfast."

Although the redhead didn't realize it, he too was radiant from their intimacy. He let out a genuine giggle as he cockily answered and the blond felt like he could get lost in the lushly tangled underbrush of Mail's glossy irises.

It was then that very moment Mello decided that he had never heard a more lovely sound than Mail's laugh. It was rich and throaty like a cup of hot apple cider by the fireplace in winter.

He found himself wanting to hear such a sound of pleasant innocence all the time and he felt instantly guilty.

_A sinner like himself didn't deserve the opportunity to be near someone like Mail. _

Maybe he could get away with just being around the redhead; hearing his voice, pleasuring him, learning everything about him.

That had to be enough.

People like him didn't get the opportunity for love or friendship; usually the best they got was fleeting lust.

But somehow when it came to Mail, that wasn't _enough_.

"Now who's spacing out?"

Mello started, he noticed that Mail had been watching him with obvious interest and his cheeks were dimpled with merit.

"Oh, shut up."

He stifled the redness threatening to bloom on his cheeks and Mail gazed at him in precious curiosity.

"Let's get you something to eat."

"Alright!"

"Dammit."

"What?!"

"D-don't act so excited; It's just breakfast for Christ's sake."

"Okay, okay…but can I at least be excited about riding again?"

Mello's face morphed into something quite seductive. He gave the redhead his Cheshire cat grin.

"Ginger, you can ride me anytime."

"I-I was talking about the motorcycle!"

"Of course you were."

"Let's just go already!"

* * *

A couple minutes later, Mail was cheerfully digging into a heaping plate of syrup drenched pancakes.

Mello sat calmly across from him, slowly sipping a cup of black coffee.

They were seated in a rundown but comfortable old fashioned diner. There were a few loners and couples occupying the plastic booths, but the two men had managed to beat the morning breakfast rush.

Mail stopped mid mouthful to observe the predatory eyes of the blond sitting across from him.

_Had they seriously spent the night together?_

He swallowed loudly and took a breath.

"So, tell me more about yourself again?"

"Ask away."

"Like, your childhood? What was it like?"

Mello closed his catlike eyes in brief, but painful contemplation.

"I grew up in a poor part of Russia. My childhood was violent and rather lonely."

Mail visibly cringed, but he wouldn't be deterred that easily.

"Well, how about your parents? What are they like?"

Mello's smirk almost hid the indescribable pain that threatened to bubble up from his very core.

"My mother was a whore and my father was a drug dealer. They're dead now."

The redhead visibly paled.

When he thought about what his parents were like before they died he only had happy memories. Long walks in the forest with his crimson haired dad and starry nights of listening to his mother sing softly in the moonlight. He wondered if his life would have turned out the same way if he'd had Mello's upbringing.

"What about your parents? Do you go fishing with your daddy every weekend and does your mommy bake you pies every Sunday?"

The blond's voice was crass and taunting.

"N-no. I wish."

Mail let out a weak chuckle.

"My parents are dead too."

An unpleasant, drawn out silence permeated the atmosphere. Mail looked like he was on the verge of tears, but they wouldn't quite fall. Mello looked obviously stricken with guilt.

"Oh. Mail, I didn't-"

"No, it's cool. I actually should go-I need to get ready for work. I have to be in the office in a few hours."

"I could, I could give you a ride-"

"No, I'm going to take the bus. But uh, this was fun and everything so thanks for hanging out with me."

The redhead quickly placed a bill on the table, slid off of his booth and walked rapidly out of the diner, leaving the shaken blond behind.

Mello put his head in his gloved hands and took a heavy, painful breath. What the fuck had he done?

He was seriously unbelievable sometimes, and not in a good way.

But he barely had time to think about it before his phone vibrated violently in his pocket.

He picked up and heard the familiar rumbling voice of his fellow gang member, Rod.

"Hey blondie, you ready for another coke raid?"

Mello ran his free hand over the shiny pistol hidden in his left pocket.

He longed to shoot it without abandon, smell the copper of blood in the air, snort heavenly white powder up his nose, and party uncontrollably at his club.

Violence and greed cured everything.

The lure of the mafia was calling to him, whispering in his ear, licking his throat, wrapping its arms around his waist. Mello was always powerless to the seduction of illicit activity and today would be no exception.

He told himself that he didn't belong with someone like Mail and he never would so it was pointless to try.

In fact, he was doing Mail a favor by not getting close to him.

Such a thing would only end in pain for both of them…wouldn't it?

"Of course I am. I'll be there in ten minutes."

* * *

Mail tried desperately to stop the tears that seemed to be spilling out at a rate that was far too fast for his liking.

He staggered down the street, bumping into a few other pedestrians as he searched for the bus stop. A few minutes later he hopped on the bus, tossed his change in the slot, and took the seat behind the bus driver.

His mind swirled around in a sea of confusion and pain. He wasn't sure why he'd reacted so intensely to the blond's insensitive comment but he knew that he regretted it. It was obviously from the shell shocked look on Mello's face that the other man hadn't intentionally hurt him.

He really, _really_ missed his parents. It made him want to cry when he thought about being eight years old and lying on top of their flower adorned gravestones. It wasn't the blond's fault that they died.

But what about Mello? He had it even worse, having parents that weren't worth missing…

Mail felt a pang of guilt stabbing him in his ribcage.

He needed to go back, make sure the blond was alright and tell him that he'd overreacted. He didn't want their evolving relationship to come to a halt because he was so hypersensitive.

Mail pulled the string located next to his seat and got off at the next stop. Using every ounce of strength in his lanky legs he propelled himself down several blocks until he saw the familiar red awning of the diner.

He opened the glass door and scanned the now jam-packed area for the familiar leather clad figure.

He saw babbling toddlers, serious businessmen, and glossy women participating in all stages of their meals. Silverware clanked and low chatter made the air cheery and open.

But Mello was gone.

Mail suddenly felt lightheaded and he slumped against the doorframe. A plump gray haired waitress waddled over to him.

"You alright, kiddo? You look like you seen a ghost or somethin'!"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"I'll be okay. Did you see a blond man leave here about half an hour ago?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. He's a real looker, ain't he?"

"Do you have any idea where he went?"

"Hmmm. Not sure about that one. But he seemed pretty fired up and he was talking in hushed tones on his cell phone."

Mail had a flashback of Mello's eyes, flattened with pain and burning into his.

_"My father was a drug dealer."_

The dizziness instantly returned, accompanied by nausea. Somehow through the poisonous daze of his revelation, Mail managed to speak.

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

He moved unsteadily out of the door and sat on a small bench outside the diner.

_Damn it, what had he done? _

Mail knew that he was going to cry now, and he did nothing to stop the blotchy trails that stained his face.

As he sat the sunlight warmed his cheeks and made the saltwater on his face glisten. When he could finally control himself, Mail let out a wavering sigh.

He hated the feeling of not knowing if and when he'd see Mello again.

He also detested the feeling that Mello was involved in something illegal, just like his abusive father had been.

Something in his gut told him that the blond was not alright but he was powerless to stop anything from happening to him.

He hated being weak and useless.

And shit, he still had work in an hour.

_What was he going to do?_

* * *

Mello panted aggressively as his delicate nostrils inhaled the intoxicating scent of blood and ashes.

His fingers, which had been tightened in a death grip around his pistol, loosened and reddened as his circulation gradually returned. The filthy warehouse he occupied was littered in bruised bodies and gold bullets. The smoky aftermath of gun shots made Mello's eyes sting.

He stood proudly on top of a very large maimed corpse. Using a booted toe he tipped the man's body over to reveal a large briefcase. He snatched it up and glanced around in satisfaction.

They hadn't had a bust like this in ages; they were going to make at least five hundred thousand from the drugs they'd confiscated.

Stepping over the remains Mello noticed a fallen enemy still shuddering slightly. He strode over cockily, intended to gloat over the last few minutes of the man's life. He glanced down at the twitching figure.

It was a red haired boy.

There was blood smeared under his left eye. An oozing gunshot wound marred his pale, freckled throat and his green eyes were dotted with burst vessels. He panted softly; the terror in his pupils bloomed then faded into the peace of death. Mello silently watched until the spark of life in his eyes was permanently dulled.

He forced himself to move away from the body. Something acrid burned the back of his throat and he instantly fell to his knees and vomited uncontrollably.

_The boy he'd killed looked way too much like Mail._

Mello became filled to the brim with indescribable loathing. Physical sickness overcame him and as the world began to spin; he crouched painfully down onto his stomach.

He continued to heave, even when he was only spitting up blood and the lining of his stomach. His chest felt too heavy for his body and his head pulsed.

Distorted images of the beautiful redhead slurred with abusive snippets from his past pumped aggressively through his mind.

He could hear his mother's hoarse voice shouting at him, along with Mail's lighthearted laugh. He had a vision of himself running down a bustling carnival market street from his childhood in Russia, which turned into a violent, dirty urban alleyway clustered with dying bodies.

Roses bloomed under his feet, and then morphed into the reaching blood red hands of the men he'd slaughtered.

They grabbed his ankles and pulled him to his knees. He tried to get up but they suffocated him; staining him with their blood and drawing his own with their talons. Pain seemed to scorch him inside an out; a hot blue flame that showed no mercy. The screams of the dead made his ears bleed.

His reprisal of darkness eventually faded into another visual of an underground tunnel. Murky water came up to his waist and he could see a faint beacon of light in the distance.

As Mello moved closer he could see that Mail was patiently waiting for him.

The redhead waved cheerfully, beckoning to him, and he opened his mouth in a silent plea but Mail couldn't hear him. The water submerged his body, choking and filling him; drowning out all sight and sound before his world warped into empty nothingness.

Blackness swallowed him whole, and Mello finally lost consciousness in a puddle of his own blood.


	7. Angelic

_**A/N-I am so sorry for my ridiculously long hiatus! Enjoy this (slightly unedited) chapter and feel free to check out the prologue of my newest fiction. Please review if you feel so inclined. I love you, my loyal readers! :)**_

* * *

The incandescent light was burning quite brightly above.

It was cold, white, and indescribably beautiful.

When it touched him the sin that once lurked inside seemed to grow wings and take flight like a holy dove; leaving him naked with purity.

He was cleansed, washed permanently clean; free of all his past inaccuracies.

He knew that this was surely mercy; this was surely heaven.

_But was this clemency life or death?_

* * *

Mail Jeevas sat rigidly at his geometric desk, feeling like he was willingly imprisoned.

He robotically typed line after line of neon data codes onto the onyx screen of his computer.

Breathing deeply, he tried to imagine that his racing thoughts were gaudy colorful swirls and that the monotone work was morphing them into plain gray blocks that were stacked in neat little rows.

He punched in the one and zero coding at lightning speed in a desperate attempt to calm his racing pulse.

1010001

1000100

0000101

0010000

He'd spent an hour crying on the bench outside the diner, until he'd been forced to catch the bus to get to work.

He had even borrowed a pair of pants and a pinstriped shirt from a coworker so it wouldn't look like he'd spent the night out.

Now, his mind was pained with worry and thoughts of the blond man that he'd walked out on earlier.

A thread of pain thrummed under his ribcage. Mail swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. He had a terrible, overwhelming feeling of paranoia that refused to leave him.

Something

was

not

right.

He promptly decided that it was time for a break and he headed for the company lounge room. As he walked down the hallway he thought to himself that he had to be losing it; _why did he feel this way_?

He'd had a sense of doom since he had left the diner, but his head told him that he was being ridiculously paranoid.

Mello was fine.

_Mello was fine._

**Mello was fine.**

Finally reaching the break room, Mail grabbed a cup of steaming coffee; which he hoped would help him focus on the task at hand.

He heard the white noise of the news and glanced over blankly at the small screen.

It flashed from a professional looking female reporter in a suit to a heavily bordered image of a missing person.

Mail felt his throat constrict as he scanned the blond hair, the piercing eyes, and the sharp facial angles.

The woman's droning voice started again.

"The search has just begun for the attackers of _Mihael Keehl_. He was found in critical condition in an abandoned drug warehouse. His perceived cause of illness is poison laced illegal substance consumption. It is suspected that the twenty three year old was involved in criminal activity but nothing has been confirmed."

Mail's coffee cup absently slipped from his hand; scalding his upper thigh and staining his work slacks a deep brown color.

"Mihael is suffering from internal bleeding and heart failure. He additionally suffered a brutal fall that bruised his entire body. Doctors are working their hardest to save him and he is being housed at St. Joseph's General hospital. He is currently stable, but he has not regained consciousness yet. Let's hope that his young heart can hold out-"

Mail found himself instantly drifting out of the room as if he'd been inflated by air.

He could not believe, or accept what was happening. He sat weakly in his cubicle chair and stared at the black screen in front of him. His leg stung faintly and his heart beat at a ridiculous rate.

_Mello was hurt, just like he'd feared…he was…_

_But no, this couldn't be real; he had to be dreaming._

_The person he liked most in the world couldn't be suffering like this…he just couldn't be!_

Mail gazed again at the blinking monitor in front of him.

When he ran his eyes over the scramble of numbers he felt fury suddenly rising in his chest.

Here was just sitting here like a mouse in a cage, when he could've done something; _anything_ to help Mello.

_Because he'd known in his heart that the blond needed him._

In an uncharacteristic act of violence, Mail found himself punching his fists into his keyboard.

"Fuck!"

Mail swore loudly and threw stacks of documents of his desk in flurries of paper snow.

He kicked the fragile walls of his cubicle until the whole frame shook and collapsed; exposing him to his startled fellow cubicle mates who recoiled in fearful surprise.

Hot blood spurted freely from his knuckles and tiny plastic shells popped off erratically as he continued to mercilessly beat his computer with his bare hands.

More relieving pain shot up his wrists, but he didn't stop. Mail lifted, and then threw his swiveling chair into his wooden desk.

He could hear a woman scream softly, and some disapproving murmurs from others but he didn't care.

The only person that mattered to him was hurt and it was his fault and-

He felt a feather light tap on his back, and his blazing eyes met familiar gray globes.

"…"

"…"

"Mail Jeevas, please stop this behavior at once."

The albino's soft voice seemed to cut the sizzling tension in the air. Mail deflated like a thin inflatable and he crouched down brokenly until he was under his cracked desk.

_He was at work for fuck's sale, _

_and this was his boss _

_and shit he was screwed…_

"I-I'm sorry Near, I…I…"

Near adjusted his white tie and looked down at the red haired boy in concern.

He took in Mail's dark circles, his throbbing throat, his blood spotted hands, and the steady tears that were now pouring silently down his streaked cheeks.

His small frame bent to join the redhead and he took one of Mail's bloody hands into his baby smooth palm; holding it firmly.

"Mail."

"Y-yes?"

Mail's voice was croaking and fragmented. He started slightly as Near leaned quite far into his personal space, almost getting into his lap.

This close, he could tell that his boss smelled of vanilla and soapy powder-which was a world away from Mello's more masculine musk but not entirely unpleasant.

White curls tickled his hairline as the tiny man brought his face closer and closer in the dark space that they shared.

Mail was positive that he was blushing, but he was honestly too hurt to care at this point.

He closed his eyes as Near chastely kissed his sweaty forehead with understanding.

His whisper was inaudible enough that only Mail could hear it.

"_Mail, you are fired._"

Mail started to choke on another fresh batch of tears, when Near clasped his hand again.

"Hush."

"Near, please-"

Fragile hands swiped pools of saltwater from under his eyes. Concerned gray eyes moved left to right as they surveyed his rather pitiful state.

"He needs you. You need him. When everything is settled and well, I will certainly hire you again. You are the best programmer here and I do not want to lose you forever."

"B-but, I-"

"Love is very rare, Mail. I have only seen it a few times. Do not let it escape you."

"Near-"

"You must go to the hospital."

"How did you know-"

The small brow rose in mild irritation. The right side of Near's mouth quirked.

"Mail, do not bother me with trivial questions. Mello needs you, and you know it. Now I am ordering you to get out of my office. You are no longer an employee here."

With that bold declaration, Near abruptly untangled himself from the still trembling redhead.

He reached to his left to grab a worn brown briefcase and then passed it over to Mail.

He brushed some plaster from fiery locks before standing up completely and stoically emerging from underneath the desk.

Smoothing the wrinkles out of his button down, he met his employees' curious gazes with subdued yet commanding authority.

Mail timidly stepped out from his mangled cubicle and made his way quietly down the hallway.

He could barely breathe, but somehow his feet knew the way.

_Near was right, he didn't want to be here anymore._

_He needed to see Mello; needed to visit the hospital as soon as possible._

_But he was scared…terrified to see Mello in such a condition…_

Mail kept his reddened face down in a mixture of shock and shame until he was safely in the elevator and far away from the prying looks and disapproving mumbles.

As the metal doors closed, he caught Near's eye and the albino winked at him before resuming his iron façade.

His sharp tone echoed in Mail's ears as the elevator closed completely.

"There is nothing to see here. Now, get back to your stations."

* * *

About half an hour later, Mail fervently boosted himself out of a thickly crowed city bus and skidded up the stairs of the central hospital.

The ride had been absolutely suffocating, not because of the unwashed public packed in like sardines, but because of his frantically pumping nerves.

But now he was here and it didn't matter how scared he was.

_Mello needed him._

The elevated medical building looked very much like a church with pure plaster walls and graceful arches.

The stairs were quite steep and the railings were plated in silver.

Small bunches of clipped bushes and flowers surrounded the facility with the intention of promoting cheer.

_Instead, they made Mail feel surreally sick._

With shaking hands, he pushed the glass doors of the facility open and stepped into the crisp lobby.

The iced air stung his burning cheeks and he gulped it into his sore lungs.

The entrance was virtually empty and Mail rapidly advanced towards the receptionist.

"Excuse m-me, I would like to visit Mihael Keehl."

The woman pursed her lips in annoyance and eyed his disheveled form in distaste.

"Are you immediate family?"

_What a bitch._

Mail's lip curled and he rudely rested his elbows on the counter.

His voice came out a bit more forcefully than he intended.

"Yeah, I'm his stepbrother."

She rolled her eyes, but still pressed the release button for the door.

"Very well, down the hallway to the left."

Mail's head spun as he practically sprinted down the never ending tiled passageways.

Nurses in pastel colors flitted around from room to room like butterflies.

Monitors beeped eerily and he could hear the scattered chatter of medical staff.

"Isn't…much improvement…yesterday…"

"His…broken…two centimeters…"

"Have to…let…know…lost her…"

"Brutal…blood…so much…broken…"

"Waiting…results could…negative…"

"I'll tell...family...mother...failed..."

After navigating the twisted pristine rooms for what seemed like ages, he reached yet another circular reception table.

The young woman behind this desk looked much friendlier, and Mail noticed she was patiently trying to soothe another girl who had long red hair.

"NO! He can't be…why did this have to happen to him?"

"Miss, please try and calm down…there are patients here trying to-"

"I can't! I can't! You don't understand…"

Bursting into sobs, she buried her face in her hands.

Mail approached tentatively, not wanting to startle her.

But when she heard his footsteps she lifted her tear stained face and Mail watched it morph into an expression of slight relief.

"Oh my God, M-Mail!"

The trail of red locks flexed and spun as Cherry threw herself into his weakly waiting arms.

He held her tightly, feeling her body wobble against his.

_It made his heart ache a little less to know that there was someone who cared about Mello as much as he did._

Cherry was wearing much more clothing this time, and he could see that the sleeves of her corduroy jacket were wet with rubbed tears.

Her mascara was running terribly and the corners of her eyes were horribly reddened.

She was quivering hysterically, which scared him. He gently pulled her off of him to look into her face.

Without makeup, she looked like a young teen and her vulnerable appearance made him want to cry too.

Her mouth moved but no sound came out, just more tears.

Mail tried very hard to suppress his impatience.

"Cherry-please, where is he?"

She gasped in fragments of air and looked down at the tile.

"It is-is it bad?"

Finally, her mild voice tickled his cheek.

"He's-he's-not…good…"

She struggled to get the words out through her choking sobs.

Mail felt the accustomed, disturbing ache rise inside his stomach.

"Which…room?"

She closed her eyes in another attempt to collect herself.

When they opened, Mail could see her pupils shrinking inside her deeply flecked irises as she calmed down.

"R-Room 670…"

Her manicured nail unsteadily pointed to a door on the right.

"I-I have to go but you'll look after him won't you, Mail?"

Her eyes gleamed with concern.

Mail reassuringly squeezed her other hand.

"I will."

She nodded and disappeared quickly down a hallway, clutching her purse protectively to her small chest.

She seemed so nervous to be there, but _why_?

He had the sinking feeling that the situation of Cherry visiting Mello was not as straightforward as it seemed.

Mail genuinely hoped she was going to be alright.

_But he was here for Mello, and anyone or anything else was secondary._

As he finally turned away from her and the rest of reality, Mail could feel the outer world melting away in a steady haze.

_He had to put his fears aside..._

* * *

Under a heavy curtain of darkness, Mihael could hear the padding noise of footsteps getting steadily closer.

He wondered in the back of his mind if it was one of the females that had been caring for him.

Their voices were soft, and they touched him as if he would break.

_Honestly, he wasn't sure if they were nurses or angels._

As he was able to hear the steps better though, he thought they sounded too firm to be women's footsteps.

They were certainly male.

Mihael's eyes were caked shut with what he could only assume was his own blood.

He hadn't seen physical light in what felt like an eternity, and the pain around his eyes was excruciating enough that he wasn't sure if he would be able to anymore.

But if the footsteps belonged to who he hoped they belonged to, then any amount of pain was worth it.

So with that positive thought, Mihael sluggishly began the agonizing task of opening his eyelids.

_Mail, please…please let it be you…_

_I'm not ready to die without seeing your face…_

* * *

Time concentrated into slow snippets and the padded hospital room entered Mail's field of vision.

The first thing he saw was the bed; raised high and bleached and covered in sharp cornered sheets.

The second thing he saw was a collection of intimidating health related screens; which were blinking and flashing at him in a threatening manner.

The final thing he saw was the long figure curled up in the middle of a narrow mattress and tightly swathed in blood stained bed sheets.

The figure moved with great difficulty, but eventually a disheveled blond head appeared from the peaks of white cotton.

Blinking cloudy blue orbs seemed to try desperately to focus on him.

A bruised hand reached up a tentatively rubbed the left corner of a dripping eye.

Looking into Mello's foggy gaze, Mail's heart became momentarily immobilized as he felt a horrendous sense of déjà vu.

_It was that first day in the snow again._

_The man was striking, with golden hair like a halo._

_He was bruised, crippled, and bent up in sheer agony._

_There were silver bullets in the snow._

_Red blood everywhere, staining the white…_

"G-inger?"

Mello's voice was a grating groan; his throat sounded as if it was scraped raw.

But the sheer sound of it snapped Mail back to sanity instantly and he found himself rushing over to Mello's side; crouching on his knees so he could see the other's face.

"Mello, Mello…what happened?"

Mello's face twisted at a somewhat unnatural angle.

Mail swallowed his nausea at the sight of the dried plasma around blond's translucent eyelashes.

He wanted to be angry at the blond for doing this to himself, doing this to him…but he just couldn't.

_Not when Mello looked so pitiful and wounded for the second time..._

"I had an unfortunate episode during a drug raid…it's no big deal. I'm fine, see?"

Mello waved his gauze covered hand, which caused the monitors to beep loudly in warning.

"_Mello_, how could you say that? You're not fine…not at all…"

Without thinking, Mail's fingertips traced Mello's bruised cheek with feather light touches and he nestled his head in the crook of the blond's bandaged shoulder.

"Ahhh, be careful Ginger…I'm injured, you know…"

Mello scolded him halfheartedly, but the redhead could see the blond's telltale smirk rising from underneath the broken blood vessels.

"Sorry…"

With an effort, Mail began to move his body away from Mello's but smooth cotton gauze brushed his arm.

"No-f-fuck-don't leave me Mail…you can bruise me all you want but don't go anywhere…promise me."

For some reason, the blond calling him by his first name combined with the vulnerability of the his tone brought on another wave of tears.

"P-promise."

"Good. Let's not talk about this shit too much, okay?"

Mail started to protest but Mello's lip quivering stopped him.

"Just…stay…please?"

Mello's face was still harsh, but his tone was pleading.

His eyes glittered with teardrops that refused to fall.

_Please Mail; don't ask me anymore about my wretched life._

_I know I made a mistake; I always do._

_You're too good for this, too good for me…_

_But still, I just need you to stay._

Mail understood intuitively that the blond just needed his presence-not any questions, or accusations, or pity.

He sighed, and then brushed a loose strand of air away from Mello's face.

"Alright. Come here; I'll hold you as long as you like."

As he buried his head in the redhead's shoulder, Mello hoped that Mail couldn't see the streaks of saltwater that were beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes.

Breathing softly and clinging to each other, the two became lost in a world that was purely Mail and Mihael.

* * *

It could have been minutes or hours, but Mail didn't know or care.

_Mello was breathing, alive, in his arms, and that was all that mattered to him._

Looking down, he realized that the blond had fallen asleep.

He smiled; it warmed his heart to know that Mello felt safe enough to let his guard down around him.

He got the feeling that in Mello's world there weren't many people that the blond could trust.

Surveying the room, Mail's was saddened to see that there was only one bouquet of white roses from Cherry.

Mail thought to himself that the room could use a bit of cheer. Whenever he was sick he wanted flowers and cards. Mello probably wanted chocolate, too...

He knew that Mello didn't have any parents to care for him and aside from Cherry and himself, his "friends" were questionable.

Mail decided that he was going to buy Mello several beautiful bouquets and some chocolate.

That way, when the blond woke up he would feel cared for and a little more at home.

Even though Mello didn't strike him as the warm and fuzzy type, Mail had a feeling he would appreciate the effort.

He pressed a kiss to the blond's forehead and tucked the blankets around him again before tip-toeing carefully into the entranceway.

He was mildly stunned to see that the friendly receptionist was gone, but he figured that she was probably on her dinner break.

The extended care unit seemed far less intimidating during the after-hours, and Mail was pleased to find that his heart was beginning to beat at a normal rate.

Looking out the window he could see that the sun was just beginning to set and the sky was pulsing orange.

Watching the golden sky he felt an overwhelming sense of reprieve.

He knew that things were going to be alright; he was going to get Mello out of this hospital, away from his tragic life, somewhere safe where he could be genuinely happy.

_Mail wanted to Make Mello happy more than anything in the world._

He visualized Mello laughing uncontrollably, the two of them sharing an ice cream cone at the beach, taking rides on the blond's motorcycle, planting a garden, doing romantic, intimate, loving things together all the time…

The mental pictures made a smile stretch involuntarily onto his face.

_They had a wonderful future together, he was sure of it._

He was so distracted by the lovely sunset and his optimistic thoughts that he didn't hear the sound of heavy boots thudding or sense the meaty hand that moved toward him until it was clasped forcefully around his throat.

The voice that ferociously penetrated the air was dense and drenched with mockery.

"Hello, _Ginger_."

Mail met the unblinking, destructive stare with alarmed fright and confusion.

He cringed as his attacker lifted him with ease and shoved him forcefully against the nearest wall.

His impaired voice came out high pitched and squeaky due to lack of oxygen.

_"R-R-Rod?!" _


End file.
